


Of Spilled Coffee and Brightly Colored Coats

by helo572



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Comics)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Drabble, Face Slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helo572/pseuds/helo572
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or why the ninth Doctor really doesn't like Jackie Tyler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Spilled Coffee and Brightly Colored Coats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reaghe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaghe/gifts).



> I blame Lin, the gift-ee of this piece of writing. She asked me what would happen if the sixth Doctor met Jackie Tyler, and so, the sixth Doctor met Jackie Tyler.

It’s 1997 sometime, probably, and the Doctor is walking down a London street. A biting wind is blowing across the busy road, ripping at his newly ironed coat. Stubbornly, he pulls his lapels tighter around his shoulders, and glowers at Frobisher, who is skipping along beside him in the form of a gangly human male.

 

The detective caught word of an interstellar sales event taking place on Titan later in the day, and was wanting to make a pit stop before the presentation.

 

To which the Doctor told him firmly, _no_ , he was _not_ a taxi service, and took him to his favourite Earth coffee shop anyway.

 

Frobisher stops them at the end of block, at a small café on the corner, sticking out like an island in amongst the cacophony of the sea. There is a dainty sign nailed to the room, above a cheesy red and white striped awning, which says AYLIN’S ON 31ST in striking block letters.

 

There’s a perky waitress moving around a few tables situated under the little shelter from the wind, attending to a few customers. There’s another woman behind the counter; she’s handing a large, steaming cup to a blonde woman, and her gaze shifts to the approaching Frobisher, who’s grinning like it’s Christmas. “What can I get for ya, love?” she asks, cheerily, and the Doctor barely supresses an eye roll.

 

Frobisher places his order, so the Doctor waits just out of earshot, leaning against an unoccupied table.

 

“Thanks, Jill! I’ll see ya tomorrow! Tell the kids ‘ello for me!” a woman drawls, loudly. The blonde woman from prior, actually, with the large cup of coffee, which she promptly spills onto the Doctor’s coat after she stumbles. She keeps her footing, and immediately meets his eyes, apologizing, “Oh, love! I’m so sorry! Clumsy me–”

 

“Yes, _please_ , do watch where you’re going. I sincerely hope you’re not as stupid as you are blind,” he returns, looking down his nose at her, and at his coat he now needs to cold wash and drip dry _again_. “Have a nice day.”

 

She had been reaching for a tissue, to clean the coffee splotches on his coat, but instead he gets a large cup-full of coffee down his coat, still steaming hot.

 

He yelps in surprise, moving to retort again to this woman, but she’s already slapped him clean across the face.

 

“Last I heard,” she tells him, “brown isn’t a colour of the rainbow. Up yours, _asshole_.” And she storms out of the café.

 

The whole café has now turned to look at him, and the perky waitress is laughing, “You tell ‘im! Nobody be messing with Jackie Tyler!”

 

Frobisher laughs so hard he reverts back to penguin form, coffee order forgotten. The Doctor doesn’t even see the whole street staring at his companion as quickly legs it back to the TARDIS, his face matching the red patchwork on his coat.


End file.
